


Start

by anzallamar



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anzallamar/pseuds/anzallamar
Summary: Eivor crossed her arms, menacingly. “What about the others? Kjotve's allies?”“What about them?”“Are you going to kill them?”“I don’t think so.”“Would you like me to?”
Relationships: Eivor/Hytham (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	Start

Two figures crouched under the brush of tree branches, overlooking the creek that ran low to the side. One of them was covered in leathers, carried the small round shield favored by the Norse, and had already nocked an arrow to her bow. The other one was incongrously dressed in a grey robe, hooded, with only a red sash tied to the waist, but still managed to blend near perfectly with the area.

“It’s on you if we don’t get dinner, Hytham.”

  
“My master always said, you talk _or_ you shoot. Not both.”

“Can’t see anything worth shooting here now, can we? Wonder why that is?”

Startled by the murmured words, a boar started from the bush below. Quicker than the breeze, Eivor had her bow out and let loose, hitting it and stopping it dead in its tracks.

“Well! My apologies, there. Your reputation as a hunter is well deserved: this will look nice on the clan’s spit, tonight.” Eivor started to descend the hill. “Tracked many boars in Miklagard?”

“We are hunters of men. Trained to observe, to look at the signs, and then strike true.” Hytham said earnestly, following her. “Everything you need to know is front of you, you need only learn how to _look_.” He took a pause. It seemed there was not enough space in his ribcage for all the words. “Some… they say that some of us can, after years of training, achieve….” Curse this hill and this bog. “They achieve a sort of second sight, of _knowing_ just by looking.”

“Years of training? Randvi already has that. My mother did, too. Could never get anything past her, and Randvi either.”

Hytham condensed his rebuttal in a wide, dismissing gesture, and sat on a rock some way from her. Eivor looked up, knife raised and one hand already on the carcass. “Are you sure you’re well?”

“Yes. I am just… thinking.”

“I usually think _and_ walk at the same time, but then again, I’m a woman. I realize conditions might differ.”

Hytham grimaced. “When I said that women don’t _fight_ , I meant that where I come fr-”

“I don’t care, Hytham, gods. I’m just taking the piss at you.” Eivor dropped the knife and walked over. “How _are_ you, seriously?”

“I am – oh, very well, since you _insist_.” He collected his breath for a moment, hands of knees, staring straight ahead. It was better if he didn’t look at her face. “I have six knives in my back, there’s fire in my lungs, and it seems I can longer walk and talk at the same time. My own sword feels heavy, I don’t know if will ever wield it again.”

Eivor stared.

  
“Are you satisfied, now?”

She sat on the ground in front of him and looked up, green eyes wide. “I am sorry, Hytham.”

“As I am. I no longer have a purpose.”

“I mean I’m sorry because it sounds like you feel like shit and you’re in pain.” Eivor commented. “And it pains _me_ to hear that.”

  
Hytham looked back. “Why?”

“Because you’re a guest of my brother, the jarl, an ally to the clan, and a friend.” She ripped up some grass and threw it at him; she liked the way it seemed to make him perplexed. “And because it was my sworn enemy who broke your back, so the weight is also on me.”

“No. I trained for this. I volunteered, in Istanbul, and Basim chose _me_. I learnt as much of your language as I could. I tracked… I tracked Kjotve all the way to your country.” And he had failed. “The failure is mine. I will bear whatever follows from it.”

“What?”

“What, what?”

“What follows? What happens now? What are you going to do now that Kjotve’s dead?”

Hytham shrugged. The truth is, brethren who did not successfully complete their missions usually just _did not come back_ , but he had somehow managed to fail at that, too. And worse, he could not even follow Basim on his voyage: his apprenticeship was as good as over, and he had nothing else to do, and he was stranded alone in a strange place with an infuriating woman who refused to do anything according to reason.

“Gods, Hytham. I’ve met wine-drowned old drengr who were more cheerful, and _they_ had battle-fever eat their brains. Kjotve is dead, who gives a shit it was me who did it? Consider it my personal welcome gift to the North.”

“It wasn’t just him.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t just him. Kjotve was just the first. We were always going to come here. To Mercia.” Hytham looked at her, a buried part of him enjoying that it was now her turn to be upended. “And get the others.”

“ _What_?”

“Basim and I. Although it is nice that you are here, too.”

Eivor stood up, circling. “What the – did Sigurd know? Did Sigurd _know_?”

“I don’t think so. We generally do not meddle in barbarian politics; besides, it’s far better to carry out covert assassinations without being followed by a whole clan of raging warriors.” Hytham considered the situation briefly. “Although I guess you _could_ act as a great distraction.”

“I will have to speak with my brother – oh, we will definitely _have words_ when he gets back.” Eivor crossed her arms, menacingly. “What about the others?”

“What about them?”

“Are you going to kill them?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Would you like me to?”

Now it was his turn to be upset. How was it possible that Eivor could always say or do something completely unanticipated? “What-”

“You let me complete my life’s work in exchange of yours; let me help _you_ now.” Eivor’s gaze was steady, and serious. “And I will not fail. How many?”

“Th - At least seven. Then...there might be more. I need to investigate, gather information, track them down. Perhaps twelve, they’re usually in groups of twelve. ” Hytham said. “I cannot let you do that.”

“I am easily worth twelve men.”

“I mean that I cannot let you do that because you’re not _one of us_.” Hytham took his head between his hands and ruffled his hair. “This is a fight greater than you, Eivor. I cannot – we must never stain our blades with the blood of an innocent: it means we must never endanger those who did not choose to fight.”

“Hytham, I am not one of those palace pets in silk skirts – yes, I know what you think I should be doing, you had it writ on your face the second you looked at me on the docks – I am a drengr, daughter of warriors. My mother was the finest sword in the clan. I killed a wolf when I was a child. Let me be your blade. Let me help you, as you helped me.”

“I did not – _Sigurd_ said you were a princess, how was I supposed to -!” Hytham could feel his colour rising and hated himself for it. “I know you do things differently here, _please_ remember that is also true for myself- “

“Let me kill Kjotve’s friends, Hytham. You said you trained to kill Kjotve: how long did you think _I_ trained? You came all the way here, you met _me._ We had the same goal. You let me complete your mission; let's go all the way. Don’t you see? We are moving on the same thread, you and I.”

“I - … If I were to let you do this, which I am not-”

“Yet.”

“- then I would need – I would need a bureau.” Oh dear, imagine that: him, rafiq of the most desolate bureau in the farthest reach of all lands, manned by a single, unlikely not-novice. “To study in.”

“Study?”

“The targets. Tell you where to go, who to look for. How to strike.”

“Consider it done.” Eivor smiled now. “It’s going to be a great tale, don’t you think? I can already hear the skalds.”

“If word of this gets back to Istanbul, I am going to lose my head.” Hytham got up. “I’m not even sure of how I will tell Basim.”

“We’ll kill that boar when we get to it. Which reminds me!” Eivor kneeled back to the carcass, resuming her work, cheerfully plunging her knife in. “I cannot wait to start, Hytham!”

“I think it has already started.”

**Author's Note:**

> you either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become a rafiq


End file.
